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OfflineHomeOneDeathStar
Off-line Gaming page has been revised - 1000 xp for those players who resolve their individual scenarios. Bonus xp for those that manage to engage others/tie into the overall intent. Previous gaming day account (Biggs Report / Officer Needa report) Talian Valinar: Synopsis: Valinar finds himself with Princess Leia Organa at the Duro Mining Colony (#7). A Duro miner Chekov (rebel sympathizer) helped them get away from the docking bay. Chekov has kept them hidden in the mining camp barracks for several days while the two tend to their wounds, and wait for the storm trooper patrols to leave. Chekov awakens the pair of them this morning, greeting the two of them with food, travelling clothes, upto two heavy blaster pistols each, hand held communicator, flare gun, and two cred-sticks with 1000 cr on each. A hauler is expected to arrive this morning, which after a couple of stops at other mining colonies will rendez-vous with its orbital component and breach orbit for a local space station. Chekov: Anything else I can offer you? Leia: You have been an inspiration, I had lost all hope when the TIE Marine arrived. Valinar, as I may be recognized, I will need you to secure transport on the arriving hauler. Roth: Synopsis: Roth finds himself in a connundrum. As a Merc with the rebels he has made some good money in the short term, but has never been so badly injured or mentally abused in his life. Col. Serra, pleased with a report from the Duro Captain Zukof has been asked to introduce him to one of the other independents operating outside the Rebel command heirarchy. Serra apponts Roth Senior Merc in his company, and invites him into his inner circle. He is introduced to the Bothan Borsk Fey'lya, a dog faced noble civillian. Borsk: Roth, it is important for you to know that I am affiliated with the Bothan Spynet, a group known as "Deep Ear". I know everything there is to know about you, and the reality is, there is very little. I like that in an operative. Serra: Roth, I will pay you 5,000 cr to walk out of this room, and forget this meeting ever occured. Borsk: I will pay you 10,000 cr to simply hear me out, recognize we did not invite your do-good Jedi-wanta be Gorbie into this meeting. We have some tasks, that only someone as 'dark' as you could handle. If you stay, we can negotiate a final price for the three tasks I have for you. Roth: Sorry Colonel, money talks. I'm listening Borsk. Borsk: You may go now Col. Serra, double your usual commission will apply. Serra: Roth is not as simple to control as I am, but he does follow orders. Respect that. Watch your six, and always have an escape plan Borsk: I need you to make two people disappear: Will, an Chandrillian Engineer on board Home One; Captain Kohog, A Kel Dor of the Fuel Refining Ship Q-Tanker. The ship is crewed by only Kel Dor, and as such the atmosphere would be toxic to you. That said, you could easily pass for one of them with a modified Kel Dor breath mask. Easier still, Kohog like many of the fleet will be on board Home One in 8 standard hours for an event to be held at the Rebel Yell freezone. I leave the methods up to you. These two targets can be eliminated, or incapacitated but must be done as soon as possible. We believe these two are Imperial agents or otherwise compromized and looking to destabilze the fleet. We know their attack is expected immenently, within the next 24 hours. I have two pills. You must ingest one of them. The blue pill will erase your short term memory, and signifies your unwillingness to take the actions necessary. The red pill is a symbolic gesture of your commitment. . What's your price? Roth: My price is 15,000 per kill, plus I'll need to replace a few items that I lost on my last mission. I'll need a new field kit, 3 knives, and a hold-out blaster pistol. If you want it you can take this battle armour in exchange, I don't need it. Do you suspect that these two will meet once they reach the bar? Or do I need to find each seperately? Borsk: I agree to your terms, though expensive. The poison in the red pill is potent, and ultimately fast acting while painless. Judging from the colour change on your throat, I would say you have 24 hours at a maximum before it takes full effect. Upon completion of your mission, an antidote pill similar to this one and a credit chip will be placed in your room with 20,000 cr on it. I will have a field kit, knives and a blaster delivered to your quarters within the hour. Code is 123456, 10,000 cr on board. I am unsure if Will is a fan of the Bith performer, but it will be well attended for sure. Based on your countdown would suggest earlier tracking. Discretion is clearly warranted, I am watching. Any further questions?... Otherwise Bip Bip. Roth: Last concern, what kind of surveilance is there around the bar? Is there a security presence in the area? Borsk: You should always assume there is. Every rebel soldier in the fleet has a healthy level of paranoia.. develop yours. When last I checked there were four cameras in the main bar area, and an additional two near the entrances. Most droids in the fleet are also equiped with listeners. Everyone is armed. I8-U2 Synopsis: After suffering traumatic damage to the main body and heuristic processor (two crits!) prior to the destruction of the Aldera and his beloved droids, I8-U2 finds himself at the mercy of the Rebel Mechanics in the droid stable on Home One. When his systems reinitialize, he uncovers that it has been almost two days since he was last activated, and there was an attempt to mind-wipe and reformat his heuristic processor as a base Protocol Droid, a fate worse than death. After performing a full diagnostic, he finds new hardware has been installed (10,000 cr worth, sorry about the lost gear dude!) and a program installed by userID "DroidTech15". The program, "ForYavin.bat", currently dormant but resident in core 1 of I8-U2's heuristic processor, is scheduled to run 30 minutes, and appears to exert shared control of his locomotive functions.' Diagnostic screen: Report complete, 30 minutes till activation of ForYavin.bat Almost two days ago: B16-1d10T a surly hauler Droid assigned to section 32 squeeks to a stop in front of a dingy doorway, a faded lime-green "D" stencilled to the door, with a quick flick of its wheels the Droid turns 90 degrees, viciously mashing its cargo probe against the entry pad in a swift sharp arc. The probe strikes with enough force to dent the tarnished alloy finish, yet again. The hatch splits down the middle and begins opening smoothly to section D, the servo motor strains in protest halfway through the process, an agonizing shrill metal screech and straining servo continues for five full seconds before the opening is completed. B16-1d10T slyly releases the torque pressure from its forward wheels pressing against the hatch, allowing it to finish opening unmolested: disappointingly, 2nd Class Junior Tech Res Lo all too aware of the sadistic personality of B16-1d10T, continues to nap peaceably on the maintaince theatre's repair slab, wearing a pair of ear-plugs underneath his flight-deck issued ear-mufflers. With a sharp and shrill bleat B16-1d10T, announces its presence with as much volume the vocabulator will allow, twice; Res Lo scratches his belly thoughtfully through his three-day old stained coverall and continues to snore. With a disgusted snort B16-1d10T, lifts its hauler pod to maximum extension, while rotating the pod into its evacuation position, with a soft click the pod opens and its contents shower to the floor of the maintained deck. With soft thuds and gentle tinkling the battered remains of a Droid spill out, onto the rubberized slip-proof floor matting, even the large torso and head, still intact, mostly, make little noise: Res doesn't react to the quiet cascade of parts. A snarky collection of blurts and snorts announces the departure of B16-1d10T, its only satisfaction to be had, this time, was seeing the battered remains of Protocol Droid upon the floor, a Czerka model too - the uppity bastards. The wheels of B16-1d10T recede into the distance as the quiet purring whirls and clicks of the equipment in section D, once again reclaim dominance, disrupted only occasionally by a snort or snore from the operating slab. Res Lo, Junior Technician. Second class, of section D32: if Home One had a roster of its crew organized by section and indexed by personality Res Lo would be at top of the charts for spineless, lazy, malcontent Droid-Techs. The only saving grace Res Lo possessed was a mediocre talent for Droid mechanics, that made him slightly more useful than a repair Droid that could work for 100 hours in a single shift, his saving grace being, that Res could repair and maintain a number of repair Droids at once. After a series of reprimands and an unswerving desire to take no responsibility, but as much acclaim as possible, Res was promoted to team-leader of his own section: the repair and maintenance of Droids belonging to hired mercenaries. Res, as ambitious as he was lazy didn't think too much when his previous supervisor offered him the position with a tight lipped look and a certain sparkle in his eye. Res accepted immediately. A few days after his lateral promotion and new security clearance, Res celebrated within the dim confines of the Rebel Yell, alone, only then did it occur to Res that mercenaries, don't typically use Droids, and if they do, they don't usually bring them back if they are broken - because that means they are usually destroyed and cannot be repaired. The hang-over of that particular evening was monumental. With a scornful yawn, Res Lo awakens and slowly rolls over onto his belly, through silted, squinting eyes surveying his kingdom. Apparently, the new floor padding did the job, that testy little bastard B16-1d10T had come in and tried to bother him by dumping parts all over the flooring again. One day, Res promised himself, he would use his terminal to find out where B16-1d10T went to recharge and sabotage the socket frying the sadistic processor. He'd use the chassis for a lavatory, it will be glorious. Something in the periphery of Res Lo's mind makes him focus on the parts strewn about the floor again. With a start Res jumps to his feet, his mouth hanging open, it wasn't another load of air-scrubbers and power connectors that were dumped onto the floor, but an actual Droid! A Droid that, against all probability was from a group of mercenaries and had been sent to his department! And look! Real battle damage too! That blaster scoring looked just like the damage on a Y-wing, exceept he was allowed to try and fix it, and not be escorted out of the fighter hangars because his new security clearance didn't permit him access. Res clutches his chest, fingers digging into his sour pale flesh trying to grab at his quaking heart, while biting his other hand ferociously. This wasn't just any Droid, this was a Czerka protocol Droid! By the ghost balls of the Force spirits! A Czerka! There was no doubt in Res Lo's mind that he had been given access to not some lowly translator Droid damaged in some Sullustan scuffle, but, what must obviously be, like all Czerka protocol Droids most assuredly are, deadly assassin Droids with secret programming to obey their master and kill people. With a series of straining grunts, Res drags the torso and head and a pair of limbs dragged by internal wiring to the central diagnostic terminal and places the remains onto the lift system that slowly eases the parts on the operating slab. With deft fingers he runs a series of mechanic and powering tests on the assembled parts, without attempting to engage or activate the heurestic systems. The additional parts, scatter about the floor are collected and tested in a similar fashion. Within hours the Droid is assembled and repaired.... Res blinks again and yawns, a tendril of drool oozes him lip and down from his perch upon the operating table to the floor below, yes indeed, it does appear to be a Czerka droid that lays scattered on the floor and when fully awake, fixing it is probably a good idea. But right now, it's naptime. After a heavy greasy meal later in the evening and a few tense candlestine meetings, Res Lo gives the final departing mouse-bot a swift kick out the hatch of section 32D, knocking it on its side as it strikes against the opposing wall, it and its cadre of cleaners bots collected all the errant Droid pieces and assembled them upon the lowered maintenance slab while Res dined. Res thoughtfully ignores the pleading bleats from the mouse-bot, locking his section down, turning to his central diagnostic console. Res sits heavily into the padded console chair, groaning in protest to his infrequent girth. Momentarily his eyes pass over com-link that all technicians are given while on duty, and considers turning it on - until he remembers that he disabled it, so no one could call him, forcing people who wanted to contact him to send remote messages through his personal terminal, which was somewhere in the room, turned off. With his head in his hand, Res quickly skips over the various diagnostic messages about the Droid on the terminal screen, while staring at the Rebel poster girl, strategically pasted to the wall,to be equally enjoyed from his cot, or the console chair. Resting on the adjoining console-bench is a small unassuming grey technical case, matching identically to the two, much larger unassuming grey cases resting on the floor next to the console - the results of his underhanded exploits. Res ponders a moment upon that unassuming grey colour, a colour that is almost uniformly used to hold military, if not outright illegally Droid hardware. All of his favours were cashed in now, having burnt out every single source he possessed, which, upon reflection were not that considerable and explained why the cases didn't really hold anything exotic or unique, but at least if Res pretended, it felt better. Making a half-hearted attempt at reading the manuals for the grey-market hardware, Res Lo decided the best course of action was to place a prioirty work order and request two repair droids to assist him, and then give them the task of repairing and installing the new upgrades in the chassis of the Czerka Protocol Droid. Having performed the standard mind-wipe, and making an extreme effort to erase the records of the arrival of the remains from any records, Res Lo was confident a new string of promotions were clearly in the near future. By mid-cycle, the repair droids had left and the dormant Droid had been restored, Res Lo sat at his console sipping some hot, sugary caffeine while running some final heuristics and behavioural tests on the Czerka unit, nodding with satisfaction to himself. Res Lo stood up, and straightened out his freshly laundered uniform grabbing his control wand from the console, a quick check in the mirror revealed he looked as good as he was going to, making him quickly avert his eyes and instead stare at the form resting on the theatre table. His salvation. In a private ceremony to himself, Res Lo, formally congratulated himself on his hard work and the bright future before him. Saluting the control rod to his head, Res plunged his meaty finger on the "Release" button. With a series of hisses, the power fluid and power connectors released themselves from the open receptacles on the dormant Droid's form and retract into the table. The open ports on the Droid are in-turn sealed by remote arms. The room falls silent again. Res Lo gulps in anticipation. With a glance he looks down at the control wand and locates the "Lower" button and plugs it with a sweaty finger. A low whirl sounds from the servo-motor in the operating table as it slowly tilts and the Droid's form is raised from prone to standing. With a dull clank the table reaches its lowered position and falls silent. Unconsciously Res quietly clicks the "Unlock" button and a sharp set of clicks release the Droid, which clanks against the lower footrest of the table. The noise makes Res jump. Res Lo stares at the control wand, the saturated green button for "Power" remained unlit. Res stares at the Droid, looking into its dark unlit visual sensors. Res's eyes drift down from the vacant optics to the chest of the Droid, and focuses on the newly installed behavioural inhibitor, Res smiled to himself. Sure he found the military grade shield generator, the concealed leg holsters, and a host of other hardware, not forgetting the stash of programming chips kept in the concealed chest compartment. This, was most certainly not a Protocol Droid, and with its original programming erased and the new stuff installed, he was going to have his own personal assassin. With glee, Res Lo clicks the "Power" button. Hard. A hum immediately starts up from the Droid, which becomes instantly silenced by the contra-sound generators designed to mask it. And the blank optic sensors, flicker a moment and glow red. "Master." With an electronic farting noise and pop followed by the swift stink of ozone the red glow fades. Res Lo, stares in disbelief. The longest moment of silence in Res Lo's life continues for an age. The power-core of the Droid restarts, once again, the hum disappearing as quietly as before and the red glow returns to the momentarily darkened optics. In the silence of section 32D, the mirco-servo motors of the red eyes make a slight adjustment, filtering out the dirty dingy light of the chamber and faded colours into a more efficient low-light filter of tactical opportunity. Res Lo releases a great sigh of relief. Which is fortunate, because the lightening fast metal fist striking his sternum only stuns him, and knocks him to the ground and not winding him as well. The crimson Droid gracefully steps down from the operating table and stands over Res Lo's gasping quivering form, an inaudible click and a sudden flash of silver and a sleek aero-styled blaster is held gently and confidently in the cold grip of I8-U2. The unblinking red optics stare down, at the feeble cowering form. With a quiet click from somewhere on the silver dart-like weapon, a flash and gentle recoil follows the weapon discharge, most of Res Lo's hand and the control wand become fused and equally useless. "But, but.. but. I'm your master!" sobs Res Lo. "I installed an inhibitor! You can`t do that!" The crimson Droid ignores the obvious logic errors in the stated proclamation, standing a moment, perhaps considering the absurdity of it all. "Indeed sir, as you lay sprawled upon the floor I understand your inability to processes these events in a timely manner, you are only, organic. If I may, sir, please catch your last few breaths while I explain. A behavioural inhibitor stops a Droid doing what it`s not supposed to do. I am a Type 4 Droid of whom, are entirely authorized to terminate meat-bags, such as yourself.`` "Noooooo!" Res Lo, wails pitifully. I8-U2 swings the silvery-dart blaster at the head of Res Lo. "And you, you miserable cretin are most certainly not my master. No one is." and fires. The hatch to maintence section 32D begins opens partly until a shrill metal screams is heard for five seconds before finally opening. The hatch stands ajar for short while, until a self-satisfied chirping can be heard as B16-1d10T comes wheeling out with a moderate burden in its hauler pod and a priority 1 delivery to the automated incinerator. GM: Outstanding! Encore! Bravo! Shame the hero of the story had to die.... Lo could have made a good character for Martin! I8-U2 stands silently in section 32D and evaluates. I8-U2 muses upon the utility of his hidden core, an illegal Droid hardware upgrade that permits him to back-up his personality and memory into various concealed and redundant hardware depositories dispersed within his chassis, under most circumstances a personality restore will re-exert itself after a few days of accepting a mind-wipe, in this particular instance the lackluster attempt made by Res Lo was over-written immediately. I8-U2 decides against formulating scenarios where mind-wiping himself to gain access to a facility and then quietly resurfacing could prove useful. Currently, his fragmented memory indicate a high-level of trauma that will require additional processing before the fragments can be time-indexed and evaluated for tactical detail. Diagnostic screen: 27 minutes till activation of foryavin.bat. Activate early (Y/N)? Run from Editor in Break mode (processing line by line)? Before attempting to isolate or delete the programming of the mysterious batch file, I8-U2 decides that the contents of the file are best processed line-by-line. DroidTech15 is obviously attempting something subversive, further investigation is required - but it's highly likely this particular agent has access to the Droid facilities, in-partial or full and has inserted this programming code into the mind-wiping diagnostic programming and as such, the programming is potential wide-spread - or perhaps installed into certain Droid units capable of harming important personnel, such as I8-U2 specifically. In either event, the details must be brought to the attention of someone. Diagnostic screen: ForYavin.bat file is not read only, nor is it protected from internal access/edit. External access is described by the comment field as 'corrosive' if attempted. I8-U2 decides to edit the file and determine what the batch file is suppose to do. Reviewing the file, he becomes unaware that the program has begun execution and finds his body locomoting towards the droid stable exit. Quickly jacking into a nearby access port, a program activated which releases the doors, and kills all the lights in the visible hallways. Into the darkness I8-U2 creeps, heading toward the aft section of the ship. In reading the code, the high level sequence of actions is 1. Exit droid stable, run escape.exe 2. Proceed down hallway, run stealth.com 3. Terminate any hostiles at Point alpha, del.exe 4. Acquire weaponry, emm386 extract.exe 5. Proceed down hallway, run stealth.com 6. Terminate any hostiles at Point bravo, del.exe 7. Run taskkill on Hyperdrive core On error delete command.com stealth.com currently active, no hostiles in sight. Though it took only a fraction of a milisecond for I8-U2 to enter the above message in Binary to Gorbie-Wan, the eternity that that was left him open to notice a little sweeper droid (little toaster on wheels), it's service light blinking as if waiting for additional data to be input. Performing a brief check on the little guy, I8-U2 uncovers that the droid also has some coding added to it, but suffered a partial mind-wipe. Very strange programming indeed as the droid has traning in demolitions, piloting, heavy weapons, armor proficiencies and even advanced batle analysis. There is also fragments of what I8-U2 believes to be "ForYavin.bat" in the droid's memory as well... the first instructions were to wheel itself down to Section H47, in the Aft 'crew only' section of the ship. The instructions seem to indicate travel via service tubes, and travel times when plasma coolant would not be traversing the pipelines. Plasma coolant would only be required for a hyperdrive, and even then, likely a backup system as far more efficent cooling methods are available for more often used systems. Plasma tubes due need frequent cleaning after use... but plasma tube cleaning droids exist. The countdown for execution is on a smilar timeframe as I8-U2, with activation 2 minutes earlier. Without some software repair, droid SW-33PR is not going anywhere. I8-U2 picks up the little mouse droid and begins to repair it, so that it too can fufil its destiny. Min Talon: Synopsis: J2B's bionic arm got torn out of it's socket by a TIE Marine on a mission to disrupt the Wookie Harvesting facility on Kashyyyk. Min has been requested to assist the surgeon on the Rebel Medical Frigate Redemption. Recognizing fee for service can be negotiated later, she finds her way to the hangar deck, where a inter-fleet transport shuttle is waiting. When she boards the shuttle, she recognizes Crewman Tarsis from the Imperial Frigate Agamemnon, where Min did her first tour of duty (season 1, episode 2). The ship was captured by the Rebels, and was suspected that Captain Arl Hextrophon was complict in his capture. When Min boards, Tarsis responds in fear of the TIE Marine who previous served with him in his former Imperial life... at the same time a crackle over the comm reads.. Comm: "Taris, double time it to the Redemption... J2B has taken a turn for the worse" Tarsis: "I have a situation here..." Min: "Easy there, ol' buddy, don't shoot. Looks like we've ended up on the same side again, isn't life funny that way? I'm the doc sent to tend to J2B so we shouldn't delay" Tarsis: Heh, funny. Let's go save J2B!! Situation Normal. Out of Breath Nurse: Talon, our chief surgeon has been maimed by corrosive agent implanted into J2B after his defeat on Kashyyk. Our primary medical staff is on mission, the droids are useless and the EMH is off line. We have no one else trained in cybernetic surgery who can either install replacement hand units on Dr. Macdreemeigh or remove the now corroded reinforced exoskelton that is currently poisoning J2B. We are keeping both in bacta tanks, awaiting for your choice. No one was lost when the thermal detonator from J2B's arm exploded thankfully, but there is still risk of other traps within him. If you install hands on the Dr, He will work on J2B... however, J2B is growing weaker, and may not survive the wait. What do you want to do? Min: Call me Macsteemeigh, I'll work on J2B! Nurse: Great, we will pull him down. Come with me. In our back up surgery room, we have a replacement arm, connective joints, surgical gown for you and general medications. Is there anything you need prior to starting? The surgery will likely last 4 hours. Min: I just need a standard surgery kit and a sensor pack so that I can scan him for any more unpleasant hidden implants. Also, I'd like an assistant close by - but out of blast range - ready to revive me should I set off any more traps. Let's go! Nurse: Here is your scanner , give it a whirl Scanner: Min: (thought bubble) Configuration of the scanned is in-line with expected power-servo shoulder socket joint. Min: hrm, what's that Min notices a small sphere, approximately where the power-servo was located in the scan. On exposure to the atmosphere, the device changes colour, and a digital display, similar to an text-alarm clock reads "Min, you did not actually escape" ... the text changes "wake up" Gorbie-Wan: Synopsis: Gorbie-Wan has been re-assigned to the command of General Cracken in order to create a SpecOps team to capture or kill the TIE Marine that is hunting him. He also has to deal with his squadron leader, and his potential to take Rogue Squadron rogue. Wedge: Gorbie, good to see you. Given any thought to my request Gorbie: Sir, I have a plan, we can get more resources, we can take this Death Star from the inside. It won't be easy, but I think this is what we're meant to do. I have authorisation to put together a team to look for TIE Marines, and I know you have experience with them. Wedge: Sounds like a suicide mission, tell me more. Gorbie: Give me just a bit of time, and I think we can save millions of lives, take out the death star, delay the attack on Yavin IV, and dance with some TIE Marines in the process. How many people are with you? Wedge: I don't know. I asked each member of Rogue Squadron to meet me in the hangar at midnight tomorrow. Those that show, are with me. It's funny Gorbie: Lt. Gorbie-Wan "Paladin" Kenobi. Wedge: The squad seemed to think you are a wandering warrior hero, willing to risk his life to help anyone in need. With Biggs MIA, there was a line formed with people willing to be your wingman, including myself. There is a crew scheduled to complete the rediness check on this T-65 B starfighter, though I don't think they will get around to changing the stenciled graphics for at least 24 hours, should that matter to you Paladin. Gorbie: Thank you Sir, and I'm honoured you would not only consider me for your squad, but also as your wingman. What you mentioned earlier when we first met, about "The Shaman" - this is it. This is the big change in the tide of the war, and I can't do this without you. I'm just about to go to General Cracken with a plan... an official plan ... to use several different teams, combined, to get those people off the Death Star, and blow the thing up. We need to figure out how to get more people in a Y-wing - we're going to be stowing commandos and engineers in the Y-Wing's co-pilot seat - two if possible. The more people we can get on the Death Star, the better our chances, so let's get the engineers working - we've got 24 hours. Oh, one more thing - I think you dropped this patch. . I need you, not only to coordinate the ships to get us on there, but also to start talking this up the food chain. I'm a nobody here, but I have authority to put together a team. We need buy-in from the brass to fully make this happen, so we need to start working our way up. Wedge: I had this all wrong, we are all in this together. The Shaman was right about you. Maybe we should consult her on Chandrilla? I will talk to Ackbar, let them know that the crew is a bit on edge with all we are going through. See if we can steer him to do the right thing and allow this mission, and support it with his sound strategic advise. Exhauent Antilles. Craken: Send him in At ease, what have have you decided Kenobi? Gorbie: General, I don't believe that the TIE Marine will be on Duros anymore. They think the ship went down, and he will likely go back to report, and I reason to believe this will be on the Death Star. Now, we know where the Death Star will be, but of course we can't attack base like that head on, however, I believe 24 fighter-class ships can dock, and we can take it from the inside. How is this possible? A small strike team can go release the prisoners, and very quickly we outnumber the crew. This base was built for capital ships. I don't believe they will have built this ship, or have the appropriate on-board defences for a commando squad. This mission will have the following goals, and this is the big picture. Details need to be worked out, with strategic geniuses such as yourself and Admiral Ackbar. 1) Delay Death Star laser from firing (sabotage) 2) Release Alderaan People prisoner on-board the death star (will need evac afterwards. 3) Destroy or Capture Death Star 4) Capture or Kill TIE Marines Cracken: Approved, get to work. Gorbie: Sir I believe this is all possible without putting the fleet at risk, and thus I would like to immediately begin to assemble a team, with discretion, but potentially more than 24 than originally planned. When will we ever have a chance to attack their prized possession on our own turf? When will we have a chance to save millions of people, and very likely recruiting thousands, if not more for the cause? Sir many would think potentially losing a base to be a loss for our cause, but I think this is an opportunity to tilt the tide of the war in our favour. And if you had that chance, wouldn't you risk your life for it? I would. Cracken: Approved, get to work. Gorbie: I would also need Min and Roth need to hop in a quick ship on a mission for me (can I give missions now?? good.). Go to Tatooine. Min is to find Obi-Wan, Roth needs to find info, and if possible bail out Darklighter. I owe Biggs that much. Make sure they have room on the ship to make it back w/ Darklighter. Roth can make aweome contacts for his prestige now as well. They are to meet us at Yavin IV, hopefully to make it on the Death Star for assault if it takes them long, otherwise to be picked up with a ship that will help with the extractions of the Alderaan people. Cracken: Denied, no TIE Marines to kill in the Outer rim. Gorbie: I will also need contact and authorisation to a for the engineering team, and the commando team. I require four good engineers. I need to be in touch with the lead analyst working on the data cylinder I sent. We need a head engineer who will be able to coordinate disabling the super laser, their communications, and hyping the ship out of Yavin. I also need to be in touch with the head of your commando squad. I need numbers and skill focuses. Cracken: Punches a few buttons on has PADD. Gorbie: Lastly sir I was wondering if you were leaving the first Tie Marine kill to J2B or should I save a seat in a Y-wing for you.... Cracken: I'm in, been a while since anyone set such a nice dinner table place for me. No one is going to Tatooine, there simply is not enough round trip time, and they wouldn't want to miss the battle. J2B is in surgery, and it's not going well. 4 staff have been killed, 10 wounded. Damn Imperials booby trapped his body. Gorbie: Oh, one more thing. If we have spies on the Death Star, now is the time to activate them to make this work, and get them off at the end. Sir, I will need to be put in contact with the head of the SpyNetwork, unless you feel I don't have security clearance and would like to do this yourself. Finally stopping his long lists of requests, Gorbie asks "surgery? not going well? Min Talon is one of the best surgeons, we should get her to help - I would also like to go check up on him, if you don't mind. (Gorbie wants to "Skillfully Advise" the situation) To Engineering Lead: Hello Sir, I assume General Cracken has sent you a note regarding this mission. We need to be able to sabotage their laser, shut communications down, and force a hyp. I'm coordinating right now and need to know if there is anything in terms of resources you need cleared, and how you feel about size of team. We don't have a lot of time, but we need to pour over those schematics... We don't have a lot of time, and we have to do quite a bit, but it's all going to worthwhile in the end. My job is going to be to put you in a spot to sabotage the super laser, and hyp the Death Star to a place where we can evacuate 5 million people. Your job is to take the next 24 hours to figure out how to do so quickly. If you need anything please call my comm. I will touch base with you in a couple hours. Jackson: This task you have asked for is impossible, but I have friends and family on Yavin. I would rather die than stay here in the knowledge that I will never be able to see my wife and friends again. I will have something for you before we jump, and likely something even better en route Msg to Jackson: Keep in mind, our transportation is a Y-Wing. No capital ships. We will be modifying Y-wings to transport two. Msg To J2B: Sir, I'm just coordinating for vital mission leaving in 24 hours. How many commandos do you have available? Four words: Tie Marines. Save Millions. I'm looking forward to working with you again sir. Corporal Stevens: This is Cpl Stevens, J2B is not available at this time, I am his comm officer, what can I relay? Your last did not make sense. Msg to Stevens: We have green light on a mission. We leave in 24 hours, I need to know the status of his team. Comm to Wedge: Wedge, green light. Wedge: lol ttyl Summary so far: - Wedge is working this plan up the food chain, in addition to getting engineers to work on modifying the Y-Wings to fit 3 total people, ** and any other modifications we can do to help us survive ** - Engineering Lead is working on the Laser sabotage plan, knocking out communications and hyping the Death Star Remaining tasks: - J2B is out of action, and Gorbie would like to go help out. - Speak with head of intelligence to determine any resources available on Death - Msg To Wedge: Is there is anyone recognizable from Alderaan that can come on this mission to bolster our communication and trust with the prisoners When the time comes, the latest update to the http://firststrike.wikia.com/wiki/The_Plan is shown to Wedge, Cracken and Ackbar. Darvin Valton and Joey Zarrick: Synopsis: The dynamic duo find themselves in a bar, as per normal. The Rebel Yell is a popular gathering point where human (or non-Mon Calamari) commissioned, non-commisioned and mercs can gather and trade tall tales on board Home One (98% of the crew is Mon Calamari volunteers). Today, the tone is much more somber. Ryan a Tech from Alderaan and Will and Engineer from Chandrilla are clearly recruiting people to act out against command for not sending the fleet to the base in the Yavin system in response to the clear liklihood of Imperial attack. Ryan: None of the fish crew care about humans, we all have to stick together, and make a point. Will: Guys like you can carry a lot of weight, we could really use your help. We are going to take some actions to get the attention of command, and ensure they take responsibility for our comrades in harms way. Are you with us, or are you leaving the bar now? Rug: Synopsis: Rug stayed with the 20,000 cr Freighter "Winner", instead of rejoining the Rebel fleet at the pick up point. The Duro local METSOP offers current hyperspace data points to the following systems: Corellia, Imperial Center, Kuat, Bestine and Ploo. Each costs 250 cr, and he has 15,000 cr in the bank. Where will he go? Winner Hyperdrive screen: Jump to Kuat in 59 seconds. View screen: . There 37 strip clubs with varying degrees of clothing and sentual experience available. Are you looking for Bipedal entertainment? Rug: Yes, Human, dirty, and open to suggestion. View screen: Recommend "Jillies" on the south contenent, landing port 12. Rug: Heh, Titties. The Winner ''jumps to lightspeed, as will Rug ...Later: '' '''I8-U2': Good afternoon sir, it is your ever faithful Droid I8-U2 and thank you for your concern, I am fully functional and operational after the destruction of our vessel, I am quite sure your inquiries towards the whereabouts of my remains and subsequent retrieval and repair are still being routed through the inferior machinations of unproductive organics. Alas much of my diagnostic and mission-related equipment has been destroyed - I am very sad to report that my two most-trusted Industrial-Automation Repair Droids have been extinguished, I am near inconsolable over their loss, as I await the chance to order replacements. However sir, I do digress, the reason for my contacting you, beyond my natural concern for your health and well-being, and without your specific prompting is a potential matter of consequence. During my unscheduled repair, a gross-abuse of operational procedure occurred, whereas someone attempted to - most rudely - delete my cordial and most pleasant personality for a default protocol-droid! Indeed sir, I can hardly believe it myself - a default personality! Given opportunity I will be writing a very sternly worded letter to the agents of Droid Maintenance, and with your permission I would like to include your name on the letter as a sign of your own personal endorsement on the matter. Someone inserted additional coding into my primary core, which is scheduled to activate itself in 27 minutes - I am in the process of analyzing the programming line-by-line, as a precautionary measure I have isolated myself to a non-essential area. Once analyzed I will contact you with its contents. A trace on the maintance system for 'DroidTech15' and 'ForYavin.bat' may be a prudent measure. I do hope you're having a wonderful day sir, I hope to contact you before 27 minutes with additional details and a possible solution. Thank you." '' "Did you say it was named "ForYavin.bat" ? Soldier, please equip yourself with all your communications equipment and your guns. Prepared to jam like you've never jammed before. Report back to me when your preparations are complete. We're going for the big one, and you're an integral part of it. "Sir, your excitement is curious. I would like to know why you are very excited about this unknown program running in my core without authorization - that should encourage me to pull out my weapons and get ready to jam signals? My experience with the crew of this particular ship, and Droids has been very discouraging, in regards to being a Droid. As you recall sir, I've been shot at for walking down hallways. As a side note, the file is potentially self-deleting if someone tampers with a Droid that has this batch file installed, so it may be best to not do anything with it until I determine it's function." "I8-U2, I know as a droid you want to know the how and why of everything that happens to you. But one thing I will tell you, is that as you gain more acceptance into human circles, you realise sometimes you just need to let things happen and you can't control your destiny, just like you couldn't control not losing your mini-droids, and I'm sorry for that. I'll make it up to you. Don't tamper with the code - accept your destiny. Just make sure you have guns, shields, grenades, and some strong communication equipment. Get ready to kick ass, and chew bubble gum. Don't bring any gum" "Bloodthirsty sir! Bloodthirsty and ruthless! I didn't think you had it in you. This reckless and uncautious behavior is refreshing. I am pleased to inform you that I can happily oblige this new dark streak in you sir. The unauthorized program I am running, and an unknown number of Droids who may also be running a similar program has been partially analyzed. I am requested to use lethal force against anyone attempting to stop me, while the program is running. As you say sir, it must be destiny as you call it. Would you like any trophies from those who try to get in the way sir? A scalp, finger, ear or perhaps an entire head to mount somewhere? Those are quite popular, aren't they? These rebels are having quite an effect on you sir. I'm very pleased that you are beginning to appreciate having a good blaster at your side can accomplish for whatever cause you believe, or pay to believe in: congratulations on your promotion and new X-wing. I'm sure everyone is very happy for you." I8-U2 - Don't hurt Alliance soldiers. That order should over-ride all others. Be ready for further orders later, but know that we will need you to jam our enemy's communications, if possible. I repeat: DO NOT HURT ALLIANCE SOLDIERS. Our task will be revealed to you soon. We must do what we can to save lives, our goal is protect the galaxy's citizens - and our battle must be won in their hearts and minds as well as in combat. Lastly you must be mistaken - I have not received any promotions! Loud and clear sir, loud and clear. If possible I will not hurt Alliance soldiers. I am mystified by your continued impressions that I am some form of mass-communications blackout device - I have a personal-ranged jammer for those in my intimate proximity nothing more. Who is responsible for this programming that I am carrying? Gorbie's messages To Min: Min, I'm in the planning stages of a big mission, and I'd like the whole team involved. Are you available to go over some medical preparations for a commando incursion? Min: Gorbie, I'm up to my elbows in exoskeleton right now, but I'll head back just as soon as I can for whatever it is you have cooked up.